Chapter Text
Jax Mercer is already in a bad mood before anything technically goes wrong.
Not the kind of bad mood that announces itself. No slammed doors, no dramatic sighs. It’s quieter than that. The kind that settles into his bones and makes everything feel slightly misaligned, like the world loaded a patch update overnight and forgot to tell him what changed.
The campus media center is too bright today. Fluorescent lights humming like they’re trying to be heard. A printer in the corner coughs out pages with the enthusiasm of something that regrets its own existence. Someone laughs near the editing bay, too loud for the hour.
Jax doesn’t look up from the screen.
He adjusts the audio levels on a student project, drags a slider by a few millimeters, then a few back. Not because it matters that much, but because it gives his hands something to do besides the thing they always want to do when he’s thinking too hard.
Twist the ring on his thumb.
Once. Twice.
He stops himself before it becomes noticeable.
Routine helps. Routine doesn’t leave.
That’s the lie he tells himself often enough that it almost feels like a fact.
The door opens behind him.
He doesn’t turn.
Most people who come into the media center need something fixed, approved, or explained. They announce themselves with hesitation or paperwork or panic. This presence doesn’t.
This one just arrives.
“Hey,” a voice says, casual like they’ve already been talking for five minutes and Jax is the one late to the conversation.
Jax pauses the audio track. Slowly takes off one ear of his headphones.
“…you’re early,” he says without looking back.
“I’m on time,” the voice corrects easily. “You’re just aggressively not expecting me.”
That earns a glance.
River Hale is leaning against the counter like it belongs to him. Like the room is something he’s already been approved to inhabit. Camera bag slung over one shoulder, jacket slightly too big in a way that looks intentional even if it isn’t. Hair like it forgot gravity was optional.
He’s smiling.
Of course he is.
“You need something?” Jax asks.
River taps the counter once. Twice. Then stops, like he caught himself doing it.
“I need a favor.”
“No,” Jax says immediately.
River blinks. “You didn’t even let me—”
“No.”
A pause.
Then River laughs under his breath like this is entertaining rather than inconvenient. That’s worse somehow.
“I like your efficiency,” he says. “Very emotionally unavailable of you.”
Jax finally turns fully in his chair. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask what you want so you can ignore the answer and say it anyway?”
River’s smile widens slightly. “You’re getting good at me already.”
“I’m not getting anything.”
River shifts his weight, casual on purpose. Like he’s deciding how much of himself to reveal and still pretend it’s accidental.
“So,” River says, “fake dating.”
The words land in the room like something dropped from a height.
Jax stares at him.
Not confused.
Measuring the distance to the exit again.
“…no,” Jax says.
“That was fast.”
“It saves time.”
River nods slowly like he respects the logic but refuses to be governed by it. “Hear me out.”
“I won’t.”
“You will,” River says, completely unbothered.
Jax exhales through his nose. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you think saying things confidently makes them less terrible.”
River leans forward slightly, elbows on the counter now. Closer, but not invasive. Just… present in a way that is harder to ignore than it should be.
“My family thing,” he says. “This weekend. Everyone is going to ask me about my love life like it’s a group assignment I forgot to submit.”
Jax doesn’t respond.
River continues anyway. “And I might have casually implied I was seeing someone.”
“You lied.”
“I optimized the truth.”
Jax closes his eyes for half a second. “That’s still lying.”
“It’s socially strategic lying.”
“That’s just lying with branding.”
River laughs again, softer this time. He looks away briefly, like he’s checking how the words land inside himself before offering more.
“They won’t stop asking,” he says. “And I don’t feel like being their entertainment for the weekend.”
Jax turns back to the screen. Starts dragging the audio slider again even though nothing is playing.
“You could just say no,” he says.
“I do say no,” River replies. “They hear yes anyway.”
That lands differently.
Jax pauses.
Not because he cares.
Because something about the way River said it wasn’t joking.
Silence stretches.
The media center hums around them. Someone drops something in the distance. A chair scrapes. Life continues like it always does when two people are stuck in a conversation they didn’t plan.
Jax should end this.
He should say no again, sharper this time. Make it final. Make it simple.
Instead, he asks:
“…why me?”
River’s eyes flick back to him immediately, like he’s been waiting for that exact crack in the wall.
“You look like you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” he says.
It should be insulting.
It isn’t.
It’s almost careful.
Jax studies him for the first time instead of dismissing him.
There’s something underneath River’s brightness that doesn’t match it perfectly. Not fake. Not performative. Just… managed. Like someone keeping too many plates spinning and pretending it’s a game instead of effort.
Jax notices things he doesn’t agree to notice:
The way River’s fingers hover near his own hand before he remembers not to fidget.
The way his smile holds a fraction too long after it’s needed.
The way his attention never really leaves Jax, even when he pretends to look elsewhere.
“You picked me because I look emotionally inaccessible,” Jax says flatly.
“I picked you because you don’t look like you’d make it complicated,” River corrects.
“That’s worse.”
“Is it?”
A beat.
Jax turns back to his monitor.
Should end it here.
Instead:
“This is a terrible idea.”
River brightens immediately. “Not a no.”
“It’s absolutely a no.”
“It’s a ‘convince me.’”
Jax finally looks at him again. Really looks.
That’s the problem.
River notices when people look at him. And worse, he doesn’t seem to mind.
Jax shifts in his chair. Rubs his thumb against his ring once before stopping.
“You realize,” Jax says, “this involves pretending to date me in public.”
“Yes.”
“And lying to your family.”
“Yes.”
“And maintaining consistency in a fabricated relationship.”
River nods. “I’m good at commitment under pressure.”
Jax deadpans. “That sounds like a warning, not a skill.”
River grins. “Same thing.”
Silence again.
Longer this time.
Jax should feel annoyed.
Instead, he feels something worse.
Curiosity.
Not about the situation.
About River.
That’s the problem he hasn’t named yet.
River pushes off the counter slightly, like he’s preparing to leave if the answer is no. But he doesn’t look away. Still watching. Still waiting.
Jax notices something else then.
River isn’t asking like this is easy for him.
He’s asking like he’s already braced for the answer to be no and trying not to show it matters.
Jax exhales slowly.
“…there are rules,” he says finally.
River stills.
Then: “Okay.”
“No real feelings.”
“Easy.”
“No improvising details about our relationship.”
River hesitates. “Define improvising.”
Jax gives him a look.
River nods. “Got it.”
“No physical stuff when we’re alone.”
River opens his mouth.
Jax adds, “At all.”
River closes it again. “Got it.”
Jax pauses.
Then adds, quieter: “And no talking about when it ends.”
That one lands differently.
River’s expression shifts just slightly. Something softer, less playful.
“Okay,” he says again, but slower.
Jax watches him for a second longer than necessary.
Then:
“…fine.”
River blinks. “Fine?”
Jax stands, gathers his headphones, slides his laptop into his bag like he’s done with the conversation even though the conversation clearly isn’t done with him.
“Don’t make it weird,” Jax says.
River smiles.
“I think it’s already weird,” he replies.
Jax pauses at the door.
Just for a second.
Then:
“…pick me up Saturday,” he says, like it means nothing.
And walks out before River can see the part of his face that doesn’t quite know why he just agreed.
Outside, the hallway is too bright.
Jax adjusts his grip on his bag strap.
He tells himself it’s temporary.
A practical arrangement.
A controlled variable.
Nothing more.
Behind him, River stands alone in the media center for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, almost something else entirely.
“Okay,” River says to no one.
Like he’s confirming a decision.
Or stepping off a ledge he pretended wasn’t there.